Cinnamon Frost
by MandaPanda2
Summary: You have a thing for red heads.


Disclaimer: All characters (unless otherwise specified) belong to Aaron Spelling, E. Duke Vincent, Gary Tomlin, NBC, et al and are used here strictly for non-profit entertainment purposes.  
Rating: PG 14  
Genre: Drama  
Spoilers: The whole series, but (as always) I played with canon…just a little.  
Summary: You have a thing for red heads.

* * *

Gregory slowly opened his eyes, allowing a yawn as he pushed himself up. The sheets whistled against his legs, glowing in the morning sun. He reached for his robe, shrugging into it as he walked across the tile floor. The windows were flung open, eagerly accepting the fragrant breeze that blew down off the mountains. He inhaled deeply, surrendering to the peace.

The quiet roar from the fields was a surprising comfort. At night now, it was Olivia's soft breathing and the sound of the wind rustling through the fields that lulled him to sleep. He opened his eyes, sweeping over the lush green canopy surrounding the stone house. Trees as far as he could see, each harvesting a different fruit. He chuckled to himself, recalling how she turned to him when they first arrived. _"Farmer Gregory," she teased, leaning against him._

Farmer Gregory he was, he realized with a grin. He narrowed his eyes, starting the furthest away with the banana trees and moving forward, through the lemons to the orange trees. It would be time for harvest soon, the fields filled with the local workers who picked and crated his fruit so it could be sold in Porlamar. The work couldn't be more different from the law or Liberty, but he couldn't be more content.

He supposed it was the Tobias in him.

The wind carried up a happy squeal and his chest warmed, looking down into the courtyard. Little Gregory toddled around the bubbling fountain, eagerly clapping his pudgy hands. Azalea, their young housekeeper, was entertaining him with a jar of bubble solution. With each new bubble came an ecstatic shriek. With each new shriek came a living reminder of how lucky he was. How lucky _they_ were.

"You're awake."

He turned as Olivia came out of the bathroom, tightening the belt of her robe around her waist. Her eyes drew strength from the hyacinth colored silk, dancing as she neared him. A gasp of a sigh slipped from her lips as he cupped her hip, drawing her closer. She looked up at him, full of love as she placed a chaste kiss on his mouth. "Good morning," she whispered, her cheek cool against his and her breath tickling his ear.

"You let me sleep," he marveled, nearly accusing. He pulled her flush against his chest, hers trembling as she chuckled.

"I did. You were up so late with Nicolas last night." She looked up bashfully, her eyes lighting up. "Was that naughty of me?"

Five seemingly innocent words that had the power to make his heart race.

"Would you like it to be?" Gregory asked quietly, nuzzling her face and taking in the scent of her freshly washed hair. Almost. He grimaced, a whiff of chemicals turning his nose. "What is that smell?" he asked, nearly gagging.

"Oh." She turned from his embrace, her fingertips brushing the towel wrapped around her head. "That."

He tilted his head, confused as she turned back to him. With a guilty smile, she tugged the corner of the towel and watched him. It slipped away, her damp hair tumbling around her shoulders. "What is _that_?"

She shrugged, combing the tangles out of her hair with her fingers. "Just a little change."

"Little?" he exclaimed with a small laugh, moving closer. He reached out, fingering her hair tentatively. "It's…red." The name of the color fell from his lips with a level of careful pronunciation that those learning a new language possess. His fingers curled against her cheek, her complexion made paler by the mane of red.

"Actually, it's not _just _red. It's 'Cinnamon Frost'." She bit back a grin as he rubbed a lock of hair between his fingers, as if he was making sure it was really hers.

"Really." His face tightened, unimpressed with the Madison Avenue name as he gazed back at her. "You didn't have to do this."

"Of course I did." Her lips danced dangerously close to his, full and moist as she whispered, "You have a thing for red heads."

A reluctant smirk stretched across Gregory's mouth as he observed her apparent satisfaction with her reply. "Do I?" She nodded, hugging his waist. "One red head does not a _thing_ make."

"Oh, no?"

"No." He tucked a lock of hair behind Olivia's ear, sighing. "I thought you felt safe here."

"I do." She said it with such insistence that he knew nothing could be further from the truth.

His mouth set into a grim line, regret torturing his chest. "Liv," he began, rubbing her shoulders, "no one knows us here."

"I know that." She twitched within his embrace, looking anywhere but into his eyes. They had the power to penetrate her soul.

"It's been over a year. No one's arrested us…not that they could." Her lips pursed and she looked up at him, listening with such resignation that his heart turned. "And, Venezuela won't extradite one of its own citizens."

She hung her head, shuddering. "I know," she sighed, leaning against him. Her head rested against his chest, comforted by the reassuring sound of his heartbeat. "You explained that."

He nodded, hugging her close as she gripped him. He had paid several high-ranking government officials very well for their new identities and citizenship, but it appeared that no amount of money could set her mind at ease. "No one knows who we are," he repeated, pressing his face against her head. The smell of the dye made him grimace and he rubbed her back, slow and soothing. "We're just Peter and Cristina, plantation owners living with their son."

"Cristina," she scoffed, narrowing her eyes. She looked up, meeting his amused gaze. "Do I look like a Cristina?"

His face softened as he cupped her chin, the breeze stirring the hems of their robes. "With red hair, you do," he replied gently.

"Cinnamon Frost," she corrected with dull reluctance. Her eyes rose to meet his, her sapphire irises sparkling. With a sigh, her shoulders fell and she surrendered. "You're right. I know you're right-"

"But, you still worry." She looked away, her throat working. He gathered her in his arms, leading her over to the large window that overlooked their land. The warm sun held them in golden light, swathing them in a heavenly embrace. "Look at him," he whispered, referring to the toddler running around the courtyard. He saw her smile as she watched their son, a genuine one that nearly took his breath away. "We're fine as long as he's laughing."

She nodded against his chest, shrinking deeper into his arms. He rested his chin on her head, gazing off into the distance. How quickly all of this happened. The confrontation with Annie in the warehouse as the whine of sirens grew louder. His surprise when Olivia followed him, not letting him run without her. He didn't expect the overwhelming flood of sweet relief that he felt when she gripped his hand, saying, "Take me with you."

Tracking down the children and Cole in Europe had proven more difficult than escaping the States, but what was life without challenges? When they finally located them in Prague, it had only taken a simple blood test to prove the baby boy's true paternity. Even as Tobias, he had never put any stock in the results of the second test.

And now here, an island off the northern coast of Venezuela. Home was a grand house in the middle of a plantation, sheltered by mountains and fields of leafy fruit trees. Little Gregory was thriving, chasing down any lizard that dared to scamper through their courtyard. And, so far, no suspicious visits from anyone resembling American law enforcement. Not yet.

"Not ever," he whispered, barely audible as he squeezed her closer. Her hair was drying in loose tendrils around her face, new strands of fiery red gold catching in the sun. He leaned forward, kissing her forehead. "And, you're the only red head for me."

She looked up, a playful smirk curling her lips. He saw her eyes flash before their lips met, tenderly chasing away the fears haunting them. The cool breeze hummed around them, rising in symphony with their heartbeats. He swallowed her sigh, wanting every ounce of her as she cupped his face. The seconds stretched to minutes and the minutes to hours as they stood by the window, locked in the most intimate of embraces.

"_Dada! Dada!"_

The demanding cry floated up to them, full of all the insistence the toddler could muster. They pulled apart, a tender smile softening her face as they turned. "I wonder if he'll be scared when he first sees me," Olivia wondered aloud as he waved down.

His hand rested in the middle of her back, solid and strong. "No," he said gently, her body warm against his. "He knows his mother. No matter what color her hair is."

Olivia glanced up, biting the corner of her lip as she fingered her hair. "Thank you," she whispered, grasping his hand. The warmth of his hand was reassuring and she smiled as he squeezed gently. With a sigh, she turned back to the courtyard, calling out, "We're coming down, Azalea!"

The younger woman nodded as the child danced around her, still yelling for his father. She straightened, brushing her hair back. "Let's go down," she said, pulling him away from the window and out of their bedroom. "He's waiting and I'm hungry."

Gregory followed her out, finding it strange to follow a red head. But like their son, he knew her. No matter what color her hair was. His hand rested on the wrought iron banister, watching the way the sunlight caught on her hair. How far they had come. How far, yet how delightfully the same.

At the base of the wide staircase, she looked up and met his eyes. She smiled gracefully and he saw the fear of earlier was gone, banished away to the dark recess of her mind. "Come on, Farmer Gregory," she teased, arching her eyebrow. "The coffee's getting cold."

Delightfully the same.

THE END


End file.
